War, Sacrifice and Photography

An op-ed piece in the WP intersected all of my hot wires: war, sacrifice and photography. The photographer who took an iconic photo of an American soldier rushing an injured Iraqi child to care wrote to speculate on his contribution to that soldier’s death five years later. Iconic images often have difficult histories. Ira Hayes never recovered from being among the flag raisers at Iwo Jima. The “Marlboro Man Marine” from the Battle of Falluja has suffered the lingering effects of PTSD, just like Joseph Dwyer, the soldier carrying the child. Dwyer died from an overdose of drugs on 29 June after never fully returning from Iraq.

Warren Zinn took the photo as an embedded reporter for Army Times. From his side of the lens, it was part of the day’s events. Zinn says that the circumstances suggested something important but mostly he was a man with a camera at that place and time. The significance of the event reveals itself later, when the public reacts to the drama and heroism depicted. And typically, a soldier who is singled out is uneasy about the adulation when he was just doing his job, no different from anyone else that day.

How much Zinn’s photo contributed to Dwyer’s post war difficulties is pure speculation. About all I can say is that the photo was part of an overall experience of disappointment and disillusion experienced by soldiers in an indefinite, uncertain mission. When the photo was taken, America could still feel good about the Iraq invasion; we were the good guys bringing freedom, democracy and medical care to a benighted nation. Five years on, American forces are foreign occupier seeking control, influence and economic advantage in a volatile region of the world at the cost of many hundred of thousands dead, massive disruption of population and public service. Not much hope in that.

War and sacrifice. The two go together, hand in glove. Unless the soldier can look back on his or her sacrifice with pride and accomplishment, the experience will curdle the psyche. More so in some than others, but no one returns unaffected. In the end, I don’t think that Zinn’s photo killed Dwyer. The war killed Dwyer. Without the war, the photo would not have existed. Absent the photo, Dwyer was still in Iraq, accumulating an experience he would be unable to live with afterwards. He did seem to understand the randomness and truth of the photo, that it was a just one of many acts of sacrifice by American forces; aside from some embarrassment at being singled out, Dwyer lived with the image. It was everything else killed him.

But a photographer will always wonder when it comes to individuals. Several award-winning photographers have expressed regret at the consequences to the individuals shown in their work. As a photographer, I have long considered how I affect the subjects I photograph. That’s why you see almost no people in my images. In my world, people are represented by their activities, structures and machines. If you see people in my photographs, they are part of a mass, not individuals. If my camera affects them in any way, it makes no difference because they are not the focus.

But I have the luxury to choose my images. A photojournalist does not. A photojournalist’s purpose is to record images of an event. The photographer or editor can decide which images make a story. And in the context of events, some images will stand out. Zinn’s photo of Dwyer is nearly identical to the Oklahoma City firefighter rescuing an infant that captivated the nation after the 1995 bombing there. These images give us some sign of hope amid the chaos and rubble and we grab on to them. But a single image is only part, and often a very small part, of any story. That is the great lie of photography, that a photograph has meaning or even evidentiary value.

A photograph is merely a moment in time. A well-crafted photo essay or systematic photo documentation is only as current as the images presented. Photography is a skill, much like writing or speaking. Most human beings can speak and learn to write but using those skills well requires a certain level of proficiency that comes with practice, experience and understanding. In photography, that proficiency can help the photographer decide what to record and how to present the results. Our heritage and culture are richer from the vast photographic record developed in the almost two centuries since images were created on light sensitive emulsions. In the end, though, that record is only one of many sources for understanding; we must still look at those images, interpret them, compare them and analyze them. We should always ask what the photographer ignored.

The power and emotion of a single photograph is undeniable. Its truth and meaning is always suspect.